


No Depression In Love

by retrovertigo (ellameno)



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti)
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1930s, Alternate Universe - Prohibition Era, Bisexual Richie Tozier, Christmas, Dieselpunk, Driver Eddie Kaspbrak, Eddie Kaspbrak's gay awakening, Holidays, M/M, Minor Original Character(s), New Year's Eve, Oblivious Eddie Kaspbrak, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Richie Tozier's Stand Up Act, Slow Burn, Speakeasies, references to pop culture only 90 year olds will understand
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-25
Updated: 2020-03-01
Packaged: 2021-02-27 08:54:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,968
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22354426
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ellameno/pseuds/retrovertigo
Summary: In an alternate retro-futuristic 1930's where prohibition lingers and zeppelins fill the sky, rule-abiding driver Eddie gets mixed up in a charming stranger's wild and illegal life during the holidays. [Playlist included]
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 6
Kudos: 8
Collections: Reddie Secret Santa 2019





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [princessDameron](https://archiveofourown.org/users/princessDameron/gifts).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Setting Note: I love dieselpunk and atompunk and I couldn't choose between the two so I made it a transitional time in depression/prohibition era alternate 1930s where trains are ion rocket powered, and diesel is being replaced with renewables due to a retrofuture looking to the stars.
> 
> CWs: Lots of stuff about bootlegged liquor and illegal prohibition era activities, smoking, mild violence, Richie and Eddie's trademark bad language, double entendres, and really awful stand-up comedy.
> 
> Playlist link [for background tunes](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/78y1hq4uSYDHGMwzzFC4V3?si=ysFLxR3aRFmJO4W6kY20LQ).

This was not the strangest place Eddie Kaspbrak had been in his storied career as a professional driver, but when juxtaposed against the client he’d dropped there he might as well have brought Shirley Temple to heavyweight training.

One could argue that it was not unusual to see a man of industry down in the factory district, even one who had grand plans to build a hotel on the moon by the distant year of 1950. But Eddie drove farther than expected in to the heart of it, off the main roads, away from anything christened in neon and pluming white smoke, and instead to the dark abandoned streets where people scattered like cockroaches at the first sign of headlights. His employer had handed him a crisp five-dollar bill and told poor nervous Eddie to wait for however long it took.

According to his Jepson brand radium watch, so far he’d spent twenty agonizing minutes flinching at every sound, like a small dog locked in his owner’s car. The only solace Eddie took was that the man of luxury had opted for a less conspicuous Dodge cab for this excursion rather than the standard electric ‘31 Delahaye.

A bang rang out and echoed through the vacant street. Eddie nearly ducked for cover until he realized it was the backfire of a gas-powered vehicle. He heard yelling from a ways down, and a rusted truck zoomed past his, so erratically that Eddie thought it might crash. The voice grew closer.

Something slammed against his back window.

“ _No,_ ” Eddie blurted out, like the meekest of mice resorting to prey instinct. Someone opened the back door and sat down. “I’m not a cab—”

“If you’re waitin’ for someone, I’ll pay ya five bucks not to,” the stranger said.

He caught a glimpse of the man, whose thick square lenses glinted in the rear-view mirror.

Eddie found his nerve. “Sorry, this is a private car—”

“Fifteen —” the stranger bartered, “I need to catch that guy who just hightailed—”

“Sir, I’m waiting on a very important client—”

“He’s gonna get away — _Fuckin’ Bowers, you peice’a_ —”

A phantom pain shot through Eddie’s arm, and with it came a shortness of breath. The face of a towheaded boy cackled wildly in his mind, distorted like a funhouse.

Eddie’s gloved hand clenched the steering wheel. “Did you say Bowers? _Henry_ Bowers?”

“Yeah! You know h—”

Eddie revved the engine and peeled out of his parking spot. The man in the back seat nearly smacked his head into the side window.

“ _Holy cannoli, kid_ —” the stranger exclaimed.

“He’s in that busted old pickup, yeah?” Eddie asked.

“Yeah. Hey.” The man gripped the passenger seat and drew closer. “Hey, how the Sam _fucking_ Hill do _you_ know that name?”

“I’ve got history with that meathead.”

“That so? Man’s got a body count, eh?”

“You don’t know the half of it,” Eddie blew through a yellow streetlight. “Low life broke my arm once.”

“Fates have smiled upon us tonight, my chum.” The stranger squeezed Eddie’s shoulder, and it buzzed through him. Eddie couldn’t remember the last time someone had touched him.

Bowers had the jump on them but his car wasn’t hard to follow. Even when out of sight, its diesel engine stuck out like a snare drum amidst the quiet hums of the electric motored vehicles. The industrial buildings faded away into businesses and then gentrified apartments, and Bowers soon became ensnared in the standard holiday bustle.

Though a few cars merged between them, the truck finally idled when an endless stream of shoppers crossed the street. Evidently not even Bowers had the gall to plow through pedestrians.

His nameless passenger exited and Eddie cursed under his breath at the sight of him passing by the front of the car. Eddie could now appreciate the bespectacled man’s imposing stature; someone well matched to confront the Bowers he remembered. He swallowed and left the cab as well — Lucky that he wore his driver’s gloves, as the chill burned his throat. Though with the adrenaline running through him, he likely wouldn’t care either way.

The stranger yanked Bowers from out of his driver’s seat and pinned him against the hood of the truck.

“Give me my money,” the man said.

Bowers tried to squirm from his grasp. “Hell no.”

“Don’t make me clock you—”

“You wouldn’t, trash mouth,” Bowers spat back. “You’re all talk, and it only makes you a handfulla nickels a night.”

“At least I earn my keep the square way. I even got respect for bootleggers, but you’re a goddamned fleecer.”

People began honking their horns, and Eddie’s entrancement faded enough to realize what a scene they were causing.

“S-Sir,” Eddie croaked.

His passenger ignored him. “What say I haul you in to the police, huh?” His grip tightened around Bowers. “They got you on a file. Maybe I’ll get a reward.”

“You have no cards in this hand, just your dick, Dicky.”

“Says who?”

“All my family are cops,” Bowers said.

“The harder they fall, right?”

Bowers grinned something cold-blooded. “I know your secret.”

The man went rigid. “We… We all got secrets.”

“I got a record. _Boohoo_. I got a cousin inside to bail me out.” He tried to get closer. “What face do you have to save?”

It was as if Bowers had exposed the other man to Kryptonite. “Just… Just give me my fuckin’ money, man, I need to pay rent.”

“No, no, no.” Bowers grabbed the man’s wrist and started forcing it back. “I _own you_ now, Dicky.”

Nothing else could describe the feeling that struck Eddie except whatever makes a dog snap.

“Hey. Bowers,” Eddie said in a rough voice even he didn’t recognize.

The bully’s shark like eyes fixed to his. “Who the hell are you, Princess?”

Eddie’s fists clenched. “You broke my arm.”

Bowers continued twisting the other man’s wrist. “How am I supposed to remember that—”

“I had an asthma attack and you just fucking laughed.”

Bowers smiled again, and in it Eddie saw that taunting spectre from his childhood. “ _Oh…_ Lil cry baby. How’s your arm now?”

“You tell me.”

Eddie punched Bowers in the stomach, who then released the other from his hold. The cathartic feeling surged through Eddie as Bowers doubled over in pain, like a rookie defeating a champion in a one hit KO.

“Get your money,” Eddie said. The other man grabbed Bowers’ wallet, drawing out a bill that he stuffed in his coat pocket. Eddie seized Bowers by the hair. “If you go after this guy again, I’ll fucking hear about it. You hear me?” Bowers groaned obscenities. “I work for _the_ Elbert Jepson now. You can’t fucking touch me.”

Someone yelled for them to move and Eddie snapped back to reality. He darted for his car, and his passenger followed suit. They merged back into the now moving traffic and Eddie tried to compose himself.

“Thanks.” The other man exhaled. “Goddamn, I really owe you one now.” Eddie said nothing, as his mind was blank. “You, uh… You don’t have to take me back to the district, you can just—”

“ _Oh fuck_.” Eddie took a wild right and attempted to force himself into the turn lane. “I left my post. I gotta go back.”

“Yeah. Jeez. I’m sorry, man.” The stranger dug into a jingling pocket. “Just… Just tell them you got held up. Here, for your trouble—”

Eddie pushed the fist of coins away. “I can’t take your money. No one forced me to chase him down.”

The man swallowed. “ _Bootleggers_. Tell ‘em it was Bowers that did it. They’ll haul him in and we’ll never have to think about that louse no more.”

“I know I just winded a guy, but I’ve got some integrity.”

“Yeah, well, you told him you work for Jepson too.”

“I do,” Eddie moaned.

“Oh. Fuck.”

“ _Yeah._ ” He now headed in the right direction but couldn’t move as quickly as needed.

“I ain’t keen on those highfalutin humbugs myself, but uh… Well, we all need to earn our keep, and maybe me havin’ a chauffeur be my repo man back there isn’t a testament to my integrity either.”

“I’m going to get canned,” Eddie wheezed. “I’m going to get blacklisted.”

“You won’t, you won’t—”

“I’m gonna have an asthma attack—” Eddie again jerked the steering wheel, and this time drove into the first alleyway, knocking over trash cans. He pawed at the glove compartment and pulled out his Rybar inhaler.

“ _Jesus H Christ_ ,” the stranger hissed and climbed into the front passenger seat. “Hey buddy, _woah_ , I promise you won’t get canned. It’ll be OK.” He put a large hand reassuringly on Eddie’s knee, but the gesture shot through his body again and made his breath harder to find. Eddie swatted it away. “N-Noted.”

Eddie tried his damndest to control his breathing, but on top of the anxiety the cold air had exacerbated things. He took another hard puff as he squeezed the balloon.

“I uh… I used to know this Nervous Nelly whose asthma got real bad in winter,” the stranger said. Eddie watched his hands as he spoke. “He had to get those emergency injections, and sometimes it took ages for the school nurse to get to him. So I used to, uh… talk to him, as a distraction. Because I could never stop talking — they were like ‘hey motormouth, fire it up!’” He gave a soft laugh. “So I uh. I got experience with this kind of thing. I got side-bed manners. Did you listen to _Easy Aces_ last night? _Lum and Abner_?” Eddie shook his head, but still fixated on the stranger’s thick fingers. He wasn’t wearing a ring. “I try and memorize them, ‘cause I like that kinda back n’ forth humor, nags and ne’er-do-wells. I’m not a good writer or nothing, but I was always good at voices. I’d like to be on radio some day. Feel free to slap me if I’m making things worse.”

Eddie said nothing, more distracted by the movement and cadence than the words, and the other man continued on talking about his comedy dreams.

“Everything’s gonna be fine, man,” the stranger said. “I got your fucking back. If need be, I’ll hire the community theater to give testimony about how you saved Little Orphan Annie from Al Capone.”

Eddie accidentally laughed.

“Oh fuck, I’m sorry—”

“No, no,” Eddie took a deep unassisted inhale. “I think I’m good.”

“Great, uh… I’ll sit tight back there and come up with a cover story. All you gotta do is drive.”

\---

With his passenger’s help, Eddie found his way back to the industrial neighborhood. He parked the car in front of the nondescript factory and drew in a frightened breath.

Nothing stirred.

“He still here? Your guy?” the man asked.

“I don’t know.” Eddie admitted. The signless building had no clear illumination, easily mistakable for truly abandoned. “I don’t even know why he asked me to drive him here.”

“Oh… So you uh, don’t know where you are, huh?”

Eddie’s stomach turned. “Please don’t tell me.”

“Yeah, I don’t want you to have a spasm.” The other man opened the back door. “Listen, I’ll knock and see if I can spot him.”

“What — Why?”

“I’ve… patronized this place before,” he admitted.

“Oh God,” Eddie groaned.

“Don’t you ‘Oh God’ me — Is it weird? Yes. Illegal? Absolutely. But immoral? Not specifically.”

Eddie rested his forehead against the wheel in defeat. Once the man was outside, Eddie chanted a soft chorus of obscenities like a prayer. Perhaps a pagan saint that protected those with shady dealings might take pity on him tonight.

Before he knew it, there was a knock on the passenger window. Eddie saw the stranger peering in, obscured by breath on the glass. He leaned over to hand-crank it down. The man was about to say something but trailed off, and Eddie’s mind blanked as well.

He hadn’t had a clear look at him before.

Despite the bookworm glasses, the man wasn’t clean-shaven and had longer unkempt hair, but his woolen three-piece suggested he intended to impress. Almost like a vagabond who had accidentally become a tenured professor.

“ _Wow-wee_ ,” the man finally said, his brow tense.

“What?” Eddie asked with concern.

“Look at the cow-eyes on _you_.”

Eddie reared back in ire. “Kiss off.”

“No I mean, you’re like the half sibling of Buster Keaton and Tyrone Power.”

“What did you see in there?” Eddie hissed.

“Oh, he’s there. And he’s pissed,” the man said casually. Eddie slammed the wheel. “In multiple senses of the word. Don’t blow a gasket, babe, you got the angel face and I got the gift of gab. It’s cake now.” He grinned and gestured for Eddie to follow. A strange aura of déjà vu overcame him.

Against his better judgement, Eddie again ventured into the cold and stood by the man on the curb, his insides squirming with too many emotions.

“So…” Eddie blurted out the first thing that came to mind. “Did you mean like Tyrone Power Senior?”

“Junior, obviously.”

Eddie shrugged a shoulder, trying to fight off the flattered feeling. “He’s good looking, I guess.”

“Are you shittin’ me? If he were a woman, they’d paint him on every bomber.” He adjusted the buttons on his wool coat. “I got a funny question for ya. You ever see a man who is so beautiful he stops you in your tracks? Like, if he were a dame every guy in a mile radius would sing sonnets at her door?”

Eddie wondered if the comment referred to him. His pride hoped not, but something else inside him, something strange and unknowable yet painfully familiar hoped so.

The metal door opened and Jepson bustled through with his bodyguard in tow. He spotted Eddie and his face became purple. “ _There you are you—_ ”

The stranger put a firm arm around Eddie, whose body then tingled from head to toe.

“Mr Jepson,” the man started, “I gotta tell you; this guy, he’s an honest-to-God hero.”

Jepson stopped. “Pardon me?”

“He saved… my life,” the stranger said with an odd emotion that couldn’t be faked. Eddie looked to him in bewilderment. “I was down here, trying to find an honorable factory job, and wouldn’t you know it some lowlife nicked my life’s savings, right outta my hand.” The man clapped his shoulder again. “This kid would’ve chased him on foot, but he’s one of those asthmatics, y’know, so he graciously drove me all the way down to main street to cut the guy off. Just to get back my money. _Me._ A hard-luck nobody.” He released Eddie from his hold and held out his hand to the millionaire. “So I would just like to thank you, sir, for hiring such an upstanding selfless person.”

Jepson shook it in hesitant confusion. “Yes, I… I vet all my workers by character.”

“That’s how you must get the Jepson name quality.”

“Yes.” Jepson’s eyes fell on Eddie. “Krasper,” he mangled. “Next time you go chasing hatchlings, inform the rooster first.” Jepson then guffawed like he’d uttered a side-splitter, but the stranger was on top of it, roaring harder. Eddie forced a smile.

The humorless bodyguard leaned in and whispered in Jepson’s ear, then eyed Eddie. “We’re late. We need to keep moving.”

“Yes sirs,” Eddie muttered and turned to get back to the car, but something pulled his arm.

“Hey, hey, just—” The stranger reached into his pocket. “Here’s my card.” He slipped Eddie something handwritten on flimsy paper. “Dick Tolman. I — If you ever need anything, I… Like I said, I owe you one, but it might be more like a million.”

The man’s eyes had a hypnotic quality that sent zaps down Eddie’s spine, like the first time he’d laid eyes on a tesla coil.

“Oh, you owe him nothing, dear boy,” Jepson said. “Edward Krasper is a fine young man—” Eddie knew better than to correct a man who never remembered a name — “All you must do is, ah, tell the newspaper about how Jepson Industries hires the finest of citizens —” Jepson’s bodyguard murmured something again. “But — But don’t tell anyone _where_ this happened, I, you see— It’s private business — Manufacturing business — _Government—_ ”

The bodyguard pushed him into the open car door mid-sentence.

Eddie gingerly put the once crumpled paper into his wallet, as if it were an ancient artifact. “I, um… It was nice to meet you, Mr Tolman.” He reached out a cordial gloved hand and shook the bare one that dwarfed his own.

The grip from Tolman was not strong — instead like how someone handles precious china. Eddie’s chest tightened again, but it wasn’t from the cold. In fact, he was burning up in his winter clothes.

He swallowed hard. “I’ll call you,” he eked out and Tolman’s face lit up.

Eddie rushed into the car and immediately pulled his gloves from his sweating hands that felt full of radio static. If he’d bid off the other with such clammy palms, he might’ve died from embarrassment right there. He could see Tolman from the rear window, waiting like a sailor’s wife, and Eddie’s head swam again realizing that maybe this magnetism was mutual.

As he drove away, he left something profoundly intangible behind.

\---

“Well, you had yourself an adventure, my boy,” Jepson said, his words echoing across the private underground car park. “I’ll give you a few days off, with pay.”

“Thank you, Mr Jepson, that’s too kind,” Eddie replied, simply relieved that everyone returned in one piece, and there was no punishment at hand.

Jepson fixed his appearance reflected in the car window. “Will I see you and your wife at the company Christmas party?” he asked.

Eddie held back a grimace. “Me? Probably. But not my wife, no — She’s still in New Hampshire.”

“ _Still?”_ Jepson goggled at him. “But that was in... _February_ —”

Damned that this man could remember _some_ things.

“Her mother is sick.” Eddie lied. “I need to stay here and make the money for the three of us.”

“Such a dedicated husband,” Jepson said. “A model American man, you are.” He started walking away, but turned back. “Oh, yes — _Well,_ if you have anyone in mind who might enjoy your plus-one, take the liberty to do so. Maybe a girl who is lonely,” He winked. “It’s the holidays, after all.”

Eddie hadn’t the mind to decode the mixed messages. “Yes sir.”

Associates departing from the elevators greeted Jepson. Eddie turned for the break room, but the bodyguard blocked his path. “Give me that business card,” the man said under his breath.

“What?” Eddie squeaked, frightened by his own impulse to resist. “N-No.”

“What use is it to you?” It was less accusatory, uneasy perhaps. “There’s nothing a man like that could give you.”

Eddie shook his head. “I want nothing from him.” Or at least he wasn’t sure if he did. “I figured I’d… I’d send him a gift basket, for the holidays.”

“I’d advise you don’t call him,” the bodyguard said. “Now that he knows you work for Jepson Industries, he’ll use you as a mark.”

“Why would you say that?” Eddie bristled. “If my mother hadn’t gotten me this job, I’d be in his same position knocking on doors.”

“I don’t believe that man was there looking for an honest job,” the bodyguard replied. “There is nothing honest down there.”

“So why was _Jepson_ down there?” Eddie said impulsively, which he immediately regretted.

The bodyguard narrowed his eyes. “Your job is on very thin ice after that stunt.” He had a chill in his voice to match. “If you don’t want to be skulking for scraps in the New England winter, I’d suggest you be on your best behavior.”

“Yes sir,” Eddie whispered.

He was a loyal dog. Something kicked, neglected while still being smothered. Just wanting to please.

\---

“Richard, why you never pay me by check?” the landlady asked as she counted the bills.

“I told you, I don’t have a bank account,” Richie said. “It’s for tax reasons.”

“It is not for _always changing your last name_ reasons? Mr _Tolman_?” she snipped in her thick Slavic accent.

Richie pushed his glasses further up. “That’s part of the tax stuff too.”

She sighed. “Richard, if you are involved in big troubles, you find your way out before they find my doorstep.”

“I’m on the straight and narrow,” he cooed, and she frowned. “Truly.”

“You are sweet boy, but you could not be straight and narrow even if you join monastery. Too much wine and bread, too much men.”

“That’s a good one,” he said into the closing door. “I’ll put it in my act.”

Richie took the stairs two at a time and made his way into his small apartment. The slip of newsprint he’d put between the lock fell to the ground, a sign that no one he owed money had sneaked in to repossess anything. Or worse.

Tonight, however, he felt victorious. He pictured Bowers getting the what-for by that meek little cabby and smiled. Until he realized how easily Bowers could find out where he lived. Of course, there came the use of the alias, but it was only a matter of time until that blockhead remembered their childhood beef. Just to be safe, he wedged his kitchen chair under the already double-locked door.

After stripping down from his winter layers, Richie collapsed upon his murphy bed with a sigh, and stared at the rotary on the wall.

He’d never waited by the phone before. His scant romantic encounters were brief, anonymous, and in a neutral location. And not even that romantic. Pretty girls, handsome men, someone drunk who caught his eye and agreed, ‘eh, it’ll do’. Nothing like those eyes that burned into his memory like a flashbulb, a gaze that held secrets past, present, and future.

The thought made him too antsy. He jumped up and paced with a cigarette. When that didn’t work he made a peanut butter sandwich. And when that didn’t work he put himself to bed with the dreamy thoughts of that beautiful stranger.

He said he’d call. Richie just had to be patient.

\---

With shaking hands Eddie entered his apartment and drew the business card out from his wallet. The warning from Jepson’s bodyguard echoed in his head, but the mystery was far too consuming to cast away.

Eddie had never been at a loss for words by simply meeting eyes with another attractive person, not even with the woman who became his wife. It seemed like something made up for film, a narrative device with no basis in reality, but now he knew it was real. Which was invigorating, like discovering the existence of magic. But to only have experienced it with another man? That doused the flame quick into disorienting smoke.

If or when he had Mr Tolman on the other line… what would he even say? How could he say anything at all when he didn’t know what any of this meant?

Eddie gathered himself and sat by the phone. He’d been in a high-stress situation, the type that caused men to ‘pack bond’ with one another. And it wasn’t like Tolman _hadn’t_ been boring into Eddie’s soul with those questioning eyes. No wonder he felt so unnerved.

“It’ll be easier over the phone,” he decided.

Man to man, no strange electricity or gazes to get lost in. Just talking it out. _Like men._

All he had to do was dial the number. Eddie flipped the card over in his fingers… which were mysteriously coated in blue. His stomach dropped.

He’d smudged the ink with his clammy hand.

“Oh, No, no, no.” He attempted to wipe the excess away, but it only obscured the numbers even more. Was that a six, or an eight? No, a zero? Perhaps the three was a nine —

Eddie threw the card down in frustration and thumbed pitifully at the blue on his skin, remnants of what could’ve been.

His chance to decipher that strange connection had passed. And maybe it was for the best. He’d wash off the ink and let these silly feelings go down the drain along with it.

\---

When Richie awoke the next day, the winter sun had already sunk behind the skyline. No one had called.

It was fine. No reason to panic. He’d live. Richie needed to fix up his new material for the weekend gig anyhow.

Besides, the man _promised_ he’d call.

He spent the day practicing, rewriting, punching up jokes. On average he could finish in a few hours, but this time it took all day. His mind was elsewhere. A piece of him adrift, like a bottle in the ocean.

Richie scurried to retrieve the phone book from under the bed, just in case. If the other man chickened out, he’d have a back-up plan. He flung in himself back upon the springy mattress and flipped through the enormous tome.

“Wait,” Richie whispered. “What the fuck was your name, cow-eyes?”

_Edward._

“Edward _what_?” He tried names on his tongue. Until one tasted right. “Casper. Edward Casper.”

That was it.

There were _pages_ of Edward Caspers. And Caspars. As well as Kaspars. Richie could be desperate as hell and call every man in the book. Eventually he had to ring the right guy.

Unless this Edward used an alias, like ‘Dick Tolman’ did.

Richie dug a thumb into his temple and groaned. “How fucking needy can you be?”

A guy like Edward had to be married, with tons of kids, ‘cause who could keep their hands off that?

He’d give it one more night. Let himself have one last fantasy before he swept this away like broken glass.

\---

Sweat dripped down Richie’s back and he fumbled with his cue cards. It wasn’t a professional look, but hey, he told controversial jokes in a speakeasy. Ones that’d get him banned from the air at best, and run out of town at the worst.

He squinted into the harsh stage lights. The set wasn’t going well, but he had to stick it out.

“Women these days,” he started. “Yeah. They’re always talking about equality. I dunno what they’re talking about. Now they can vote, now they can do construction, own businesses, wear pants. Hell, at this point they can do more than men, I think.”

There were groans mixed with sounds of endorsement.

“So where’s the male equality?” More agreement. “Why don’t we have a Mr America pageant, huh? Why isn’t Gary Cooper painted half naked across a bomber, huh?” Laughter. _Finally_. “Why can Marlene Dietrich wear a sequined tuxedo but I can’t even wear a sequin?”

The chuckles were nervous, like sinners in church, but they were _something_.

“Think about that. All I want is one measly sequin.” Richie shook his head. “There’s no justice in this world. Employment office tells me my hair is too long. It ain’t longer than Rosie the Riveter’s, give me a goddamned kerchief and let me weld a plane.”

A man booed.

“Oh, I’ve offended someone,” Richie said.

“It’s not funny,” said the man. “It’s emasculation.”

“Sorry folks, I thought there might be a critic from the Daily in the house.” They laughed. “Audience, this is what happens when men don’t wear sequins, we start to blame suffrage for our problems. Just sayin’, if you wanna fix the world—”

“Why aren’t you deployed?” the man asked.

“Why aren’t you?” Richie parried.

“I bet you wear ladies’ underwear.”

Richie gasped. “Oh my God, were _you_ my recruitment officer?” People cracked up. “How did you know—”

“You’re a coward—”

“How am I the coward when out of the two of us I can admit to wearing ladies’ underwear—”

The man got out of his seat and was restrained by a bouncer.

“He’s gonna hit the comedian?!” Richie shrieked, hiding his nerves behind a comedic voice. “Big man’s gonna _hit the feminine comedian with glasses?!_ Oh my God, they have several laws against that.”

They escorted the man out and a few people clapped in approval. Richie lost his train of thought, and the words on the cards didn’t jog much. His memorization hadn’t gone as smooth as he’d hoped. This set was bombing about as bad as usual.

Richie took a drink from his mystery cocktail and thought about the circumstances that left him so unprepared. He stared out into the smokey audience like they were a support group.

“So anyway, I got dumped the other night.” He wasn’t sure where this was going, but he had to get it off his chest. “Well, not dumped, but… you know when you see someone and there’s a whole future in your head that you live out, like the opposite of death? Has no one coined a term for that yet? Fuck you, Freud, you hack — I should have the doctorate.”

Silence.

“Anyway… Yeah, we had a moment, like something out of the pictures. There was a car chase, we held up a baddie, we had a tender private moment — Nothing in involving actual tenders and privates, it was more like a medical emergency.” Richie lifted his head at the sound of laughter. “But uh… You know when you take that leap and they promise to call but they never do?” He paused. “I wish I had a punchline for this one, but I guess _I’m_ the joke. Look at all you you with dates tonight—” Someone caught his eye. “Look at this guy in the front row, Fredric March with Mae West, hey fuck you, I’m heartbroken. Way to rub it in.” They cackled, drunk and thrilled by the attention. “But if this doesn’t work out, either of you can call. I’m so lonely.”

The sounds from the crowd again filled him with confidence.

“Where was I? Oh yeah. I can’t stop thinking about them though. What a big pair _they_ were. Large… dark… damp… lined with thick brushes of —” He waved a hand as the audience chattered. “Oh, oh. Woah. Woah. What were _you_ thinking?” They erupted into schoolyard giggles. “What are you a buncha degenerates —” He looked around. “Ohhh, I see where I am now — I thought this was the Crystal Caverns — Don’t drink absinthe, kids.”

They seemed drunk and tickled enough for him to go off script.

“Anyway, yeah. This set. You know bovines got the biggest ones. Yeah. Not breasts, OK? Cows don’t have breasts, they’re called udders and there’s _four_ of them.” He was winning them over. “Back to this pair though. You know _south of the border..._ they’re called, uh, cojones. No — wait — No, ojos, they’re called ojos, sorry I failed my Spanish classes — Went through this thing they call ‘language immersion’ when I was in in a Tijuana jail.”

Time to finish strong. Or at least good enough to not get pelted.

“I’m talking about a set of eyes! Real pretty eyes, man. Prettiest you’ll ever see. But look at me. With peepers like that she’ll know I got a face for radio, and if she hears my act she might worry I’ll stretch out her underthings while she’s at work — Good night! Have a great Pagan holiday co-opted to sell Coca Cola — and when you’re in the breadline tomorrow remember _the fun is just beginning._ ”

There was an uproar from the audience as he dashed off the stage, but since they weren’t all angry jeers he’d take it as a victory.

\---

Once in his dressing room, Richie downed the rest of his drink and lit a cigarette. He often found himself on rocky ground career-wise, but the set likely netted him at least one more night on stage. Heartache and pain were the best motivators, and this latest lemon in his life could be squeezed for some laughs at his expense. Richie took any laughs at this point.

Stan the stagehand peaked in the room. “Tolman. You got a fan asking to see you.”

Richie rolled his eyes. Enough people had tried to take a backstage swing at him, it hardly fazed him anymore.

“Tell ‘em I left.” He took another puff from his cigarette.

“I think it’s your mystery lady.”

Richie let out a cackle. “No. No, pal, it ain’t _her_.”

“I’d put money on it.” Stan had an odd look on his face, like he’d seen a Martian.

Richie exhaled smoke. “She pretty?”

“It’s the eyes, man,” Stan said. “I feel like I saw them in a dream.”

If she had the devotedly married Stan riled up, she must be something. And damn he needed a rebound. “Alright Stanny, you can send her in.”

Stan gave a nod and Richie quickly spruced up in the mirror. Maybe a cute gal thought his half-baked material was just subversive enough. A figure in a black coat slipped into the room, and Richie turned back to greet her.

“So,” he said suavely, “I hear you liked the—”

Richie’s cigarette dropped to the ground as those dark eyes stared back like a deer in headlights. Edward gave him a nervous smile that then faded as his gaze dropped to the floor.

“Uh. _Uh._ ” Edward pointed to Richie’s feet. “Fire hazard—”

The cigarette was smoldering amidst some crumpled up cue cards.

“Shit.” Richie stomped it out. “Sorry I...”

He looked back at his visitor, expecting to see someone else — his deepest desire a mere hallucination — but Edward remained unchanged.

Richie’s head spun too fast to pick out any coherent words. He babbled; “It’s… It’s you.”

“I’m sorry. I…” Edward shrugged with his hands in his pockets. “I lost your number, and I felt so fucking horrible— I finally figured out where you worked and…”

“So you, uh…” Richie scratched at his jaw stubble. “You were in the audience.”

“Yeah. You were right…” Edward smirked. “Your writing needs work.” Richie laughed awkwardly. “But I… You made me sound… _interesting_.”

“Well you are, aren’t you?” Richie asked. Edward shook his head in defeat. “I mean, you got _my_ interest.”

Edward let out a breath and leaned against the closed door, like he was debating whether to run.

Richie waved a hand. "You don't have to be jumpy, bunny." If this was a man still coming to grips with his feelings about men, Richie didn't want to make him feel cornered. "We can go out to the VIP lounge and catch up."

Edward’s eyes flashed upwards. “Yeah?”

“Sure." He gave a half shrug. "I’d… _love_ to hear how the hell you found me without a number. I’ll buy you a drink on my tab.”

Edward frowned. “That’s illegal,” he whispered like a rule-abiding child.

Richie laughed again. “Kid, you already broke a law tryin’ to see me. What’s one more between new friends?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel bad that it's so late, but this is the first part of a gift that got way too long and out of hand and there should be at least one more chapter depending on whether it mutates again lol
> 
> Plugging [my main blog](http://television-for-dinner.tumblr.com/tagged/fic+stuff), my [my art/fanworks blog](http://tommytonebender.tumblr.com).
> 
> TY to zach_stone for beta reading!!!


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay, I had a sickness spell and I split up the chapters again lol
> 
> CWs are the same as before, but with references to a past toxic relationship, some more suggestive language, and drinking.

[Three days earlier]

Eddie awoke from a dead sleep with a gasp. There were strange impressions swimming through his mind of wading through water, or something swampy, and his heart raced with the panic of someone being chased. He ran his hands through his hair and shook out sweat. That explained the bogginess.

Sun pooled in from under his blackout curtains and Eddie whipped off the covers in a fright. The winter required he be in the garage _by_ dawn, not after. He mumbled more chained cursed — Breakfast? Out of the question. A desperately needed shower? No time to spare. He yanked open his dresser and noticed his driver’s cap was missing from atop it.

And then everything from the proceeding night settled into place.

The mystery man. Defeating his childhood bully. Getting the week off.

Eddie heaved a sigh of relief and fell back onto the bed. He then wrinkled his nose in disgust, realizing he needed to change the sheets again. It was quite a job for one man and a queen-size mattress — One of the few times he actually missed Myra since she moved out of their luxury apartment.

His wife once convinced him that her overbearing nature was the epitome of love, but the way his bespectacled stranger didn’t order him to call, didn’t patronize him as he worked through an asthma spell, didn’t shout or guilt trip him for talking back… That felt like freedom.

And he also was feeling sticky. Eddie groaned and made his way to the shower, which had been his haven away from Myra. He had an odd hangup about only allowing one in the master bathroom at a time, or even being spoken to while bathing, not out of shame but for personal space. To him it defeated the purpose to have another unwashed human inside a place meant for sanitizing. It was the one boundary the good Christian woman respected, though she often accused him of ‘self-abuse’ due to his total lack of interest in marital activities.

As he showered, he noticed the ink that remained on his palm. A stain, a visible reminder of the person he just couldn’t forget.

Was he going to let this go? Was he a coward, like Bowers had said? Like Myra had said?

He washed his hair vigorously, like it’d shake sense into him. But maybe it jumbled his thoughts more.

Once he hopped out of the shower and wrapped himself in his robe, he headed straight for the telephone. He flipped through the phone book in the desk; the pages sticking to his damp hands. Plenty of Tolmans, but no Richards.

If Kaspbrak wasn’t a surname so easily misremembered, the other man could have simply called _him_ instead.

He slumped back in the chair and drummed his fingers in thought. Where do you find someone without their number?

The Jepson Building operator?

It was such a long shot, but he’d overheard the mogul get the personal numbers of competitors’ clients. Eddie didn’t have the means to incentivize, but it wouldn’t kill to ask.

Eddie dialed the short key and took a deep breath.

The receiver clicked. “Line assistance,” a woman answered. “Would you like me to set up a picture-call?”

“No,” he said hoarsely, and then cleared his throat. “I know this is going to sound… desperate, but I lost an important phone number and I don’t know how to contact said person.”

“Did you check the phone book?” she asked in a monotone.

“Yeah, that’s why I’m calling — It’s just… It’s urgent.”

She sighed. “You ain’t stalking a girl, are ya?”

Eddie recoiled. “No, it’s a man, I assure you it’s…”

“Gimme the name and I’ll see what the computation room can do.”

“Thank you, yes — His name is uh… Richard Tolman, I think? He goes by Dick —”

“Wait…” she laughed. “OK. _Uh-huh_ ,” she said as if he’d asked for Santa Claus.

“What’s so funny?”

“Dicky Tolman? The comedian?”

He sat forward. “Yes. Do you have his number?”

“No. Uh, I figure it’s a stage name.” There was a pause, and her voice returned hush. “He does the speakeasy circuit.”

“That… That’s illegal.”

But now he realized what Tolman and Jepson must have been doing in the same neighborhood.

“I can’t get you his number,” she said, “but I know he doesn’t stray far from the old textile mill. I… I’ve seen him a few times.”

“Do you… have any addresses?”

She giggled again. “Yeah, nah. I got you your lead; the rest is on you, guy.”

The call disconnected, and Eddie gulped.

How far was he willing to go for this seedy stranger?

Despite being on the Jepson payroll, with a subleased apartment from the company housing tower, Eddie didn’t have a car. Well, _technically_ he owned one, but Myra took it when she left the city. Her reasoning made sense at the time; the system of monorails took him anywhere he’d conceivably need to go. Except for the industrial district.

If he really wanted to find Tolman, he would have to make his way through the dark streets on foot. A mighty ask for someone with a mouse’s heart.

He went to his shelf and pulled out his book of city plans, something he’d studied religiously to learn the rapidly changing metropolis as best he could. The factories had changed little in the past 15 years, so everything printed upon the page was as good as a walking map.

Eddie was a lonely man with a dead-end job, a homebody staring divorce in the face. Myra refused to finalize it — not for appearance’s sake, but because she dipped into his finances and he knew that if he cut her off she’d take him for all he had. And Eddie held no ill will towards her widowed mother, who had been nothing but kind to him, in a way that made him wonder where Myra’s two-faced vengeful nature had come from. As long as his mother-in-law stayed supported, and he didn’t have to see his wife in court, he’d grin and bear it.

And there-in set the isolation. There was no way he could go out and date women. No way he could find a job in this economy better than being a private driver to the city’s richest man, not without a lineage that blessed him with nepotism.

He ripped the page from the binding and folded it into his wallet. If he couldn’t find happiness in the glittering lights of the city, maybe he could find some in the places and people it pretended didn’t exist.

\---

Two clubs, in two nights, where Eddie choked on smoke and sipped on lemon tonic water with trembling hands, hoping, praying, that Tolman’s beaming face would appear in the make-shift spotlight. Two clubs, two nights, where nothing happened except torch songs, drunken propositions from various genders, and suspicious eyes accusing him of being too well dressed to belong in a moldy basement.

Third time’s the charm, or a sign he should give up. Four acts had gone by tonight. The stagehand with curls untamable by grease returned to swap the jazz quartet seats for an ashtray on a side table. Eddie almost recognized the man, but couldn’t place him. Likely a face he’d seen during errands, or worst case from work itself. One thing was certain, he was thankful the haze made features hard to see, in fear someone might recognize him. He leaned his head in his hands, nauseated from anxiety and regret.

“Distinguished guests,” the host announced to ironic laughter. “It’s been a wonderful evening and you’ve been a fabulous audience. But we’re about to clear the room with our next act. Here he is again, the man who we can’t even pay to leave because of his outstanding bar tab, the trashmouth himself, Dicky Tolman.”

Eddie shot to attention, and it made him dizzy. The crowd began booing as the illusive man sauntered onto the stage as if to roaring applause. His ears rang and he lost focus on any of the words coming out of Tolman’s mouth, and half wondered if he was a hallucination of smoke inhalation.

Tolman soon began verbally sparring with a large belligerent man and it became no mystery why a guy like Bowers sought to ruin him. He was comfortable in his skin, let you think what you wanted, didn’t give two shits if you threatened him with violence. All things Eddie found terrifying and enviable.

As the set continued, Eddie slowly realized Tolman was spinning a yarn about the mild-mannered driver himself. He spoke as if Eddie were a woman, but ambiguous enough to let Eddie think that maybe this… _whatever_ it was, was worth the pursuit.

\---

Richie watched as Edward flattened a paper onto the table. He couldn’t remember seeing hands so nice, so smooth and unmarred from labor, like a kept wife rather than a working class husband. There was also a wedding band, but that didn’t mean a thing. He’d had lots of greedy hands touching him with ring-fingers adorned.

“Uh. So,” Edward said, and Richie quickly met his eye. “After the telephone lady tipped me off, _this_ is how I found you. Eventually.”

“Mmn, lemme see that,” Richie said, taking the paper and making sure his digits brushed against Edward’s. Damn, he _did_ have some soft skin. Richie’s eyes flitted around the map of the warehouse district, the textile mill marked and a central radius, and dashes through a few locations he knew well. “So you shook down Martha’s _and_ The Cellar Door?” He gave a jaunty laugh, wondering how much this man had him pegged already. “How many guys asked to meet you in the coat closet?”

Edward thumbed at his brow with a nervous smile. “Ah, more than any other time in my life.”

“Those are the skeezy joints, kid. If you want a real daddy, you gotta go down to Syrena. You dance good enough, they’ll shove a hundo in your front pocket just for an excuse to fondle ya.”

Edward choked on his moonshine laced cola, but nodded politely. Richie couldn’t get clear vibes off the guy, but at least he wasn’t homophobic.

“Jokes aside,” Richie continued, “I truly am touched that you went out of your way to find me.”

“I… I didn’t want you to think I blew you off.”

“No big deal,” Richie lied. “It ain’t the first time it happened, so…” Edward’s eyes lowered, like it disappointed him. “So I just made up jokes so I wouldn’t cry myself to sleep, y’know?” Richie added hastily.

The other man smirked and met his gaze again. “Yeah, I know what you mean.”

Richie got lost in the eyes that even in the dark room were big enough to see from space. “I used to know a kid with cow-eyes like that,” he said, trying to offset his ogling. “Can’t remember his name. The only thing that comes to mind is ‘Eddie’, but that’s… you.”

“How many of those have you had?” Edward pointed to the tumbler. Richie chuckled. “That might explain your cognitive dysfunction.”

“Mmm—” he sipped it. “I at least tried to get you the one I know isn’t varnish remover.”

“Jesus Christ,” Edward whispered. “And what are you drinking?”

“Leftover formaldehyde from the morgue probably,” he said, and Edward let out a gag. “Don’t I look perfectly preserved?”

“Like Boris Karloff with more hair.”

Richie wheezed, and the alcohol burnt his nose. “Fuck, if this doesn’t kill me, you will.” Edward smiled into his drink. “You watch a lot of pictures then, wiseguy?”

“Sure. Doesn’t everyone?”

“My spare nickels usually go to a pack of gaspers, but I sneak in the fire exit when I can.” He remembered a queer litmus test he’d picked up from his first tryst. “Who’s your girl?”

“My wife,” Edward replied, brow furrowed.

Richie laughed it off. “Nah, nah — Every guy has his ‘girl’, y’know? His silver screen siren he thinks about in the shower.”

“Um. OK.” He squinted. “Uh. Bankhead.”

“ _Oooh, Talluhlah_.” The starlet who publicly swung both ways. “Edgy, Eddie.”

“I like that she does whatever she wants,” Edward added meekly. “She doesn’t apologize.”

“You’re a shrinking violet, but you got an open mind. I admire that.”

“Yours?” Edward asked.

“Marie Dressler,” he said without a beat. Edward snorted in disbelief. “ _She’s funny_.” And middle-aged, mostly appealing to women and homosexuals.

“She looks like my mom.”

“That so?” He rested his chin on his hand. “Your ma single? I could be your stepdad.”

“She’s passed, but you would’ve had to move to Derry because she refused to leave till the end.”

“Wait.” Richie froze, like someone had doused him in ice. “Derry, Maine? No way.”

Edward blinked heavily. “You got family there?”

“I was born there!” Richie exclaimed. Even in his home state, he was hard pressed to meet someone who’d heard of the sleepy town.

“No kiddin’.” Edward raised a brow. “You know, Bowers is from Derry too.”

“Yeah, he used to pick on me constantly.”

“Me too,” Edward said. “My mom pulled me out of school after I broke my arm. I lost all my fucking friends.”

Images hit him of a boy bawling in a nurse’s office as a red-faced woman berated Richie for dragging her son into dangerous things.

Richie slapped the table, and Edward jumped. “Holy shit.” He leaned forward. “You _are_ Eddie.”

The first person he’d ever had a crush on, long before he knew the words for what it meant.

“Did you know me from then?” Eddie asked, voice thick with booze.

“It’s me.” He frantically tapped on his chest. “It’s Richie. Class clown.”

“Richie...” Eddie’s big eyes grew even larger. “Richie Tozier.”

“One and the same.”

“Holy Jesus.” Eddie gaped. “How did I forget the most annoying kid in the sixth grade?”

Richie batted a hand. “Aw, you flatter me.”

“This whole time? This whole time I’ve known you.” Eddie put his hands atop his head. “That’s it! _That’s it!_ This _whole_ time.”

“Simmer down, Spaghetti,” Richie laughed. “You’re in the sauce tonight.”

“You just don’t know — It was agonizing me.” Eddie smiled. “I couldn’t figure out why I was so obsessed with you — But you’re _just Richie_.”

It stabbed a little. “Mmn, is that all? It wasn’t my irresistible charm—? You saw how they booed me up there.”

“This is… This is fate,” Eddie said giddily, which took the sting away. “Absolutely.” He swallowed. “I was wondering why the fuck my life got so bad, why it kept getting crazier — I was supposed to find you in the chaos.”

Richie felt himself turning red like a schoolboy. “That’s sweet, Eds, lets put in on a Hallmark,” he deflected.

The bartender shouted last call. Richie cursed and Eddie pounded back the rest of his drink, then made a face of utter disgust.

“I don’t think we’ll do this again,” Eddie said. “I’ve been poisoned every which way.”

“Do this?” Richie asked in a slight panic. The mixed signals this guy gave were killing him.

“My head hurts, my chest is rattling,” Eddie slowly stood up. “I think I need to split.

“Oh… Sure, uh—”

“Do you want to walk me outside?”

Richie jumped to his feet as well. “Sure.” His winter coat remained in the dressing room, but he didn’t want to let Eddie out of his sight.

The two traversed past the multiple stops of bouncers, up the rickety stairs to the door that lead out to an alley.

Eddie drew in deep breaths of the factory polluted air that seemed absolutely sterile compared to the stuffy sub-basement.

“I can head up to the corner store on 48th and call us a cab,” Eddie offered.

Richie imagined being cramped in the back of a taxi, breath steaming, shoulders touching, and he thought he might pass out.

“Nah, I — I’ll walk,” he blurted.

“Really?”

“Yeah, I still got my stuff in the club — I gotta cash out, it’s a whole thing.”

He foresaw himself doing something impulsive, going in for a kiss. It was a reflex when he liked a guy, and this was his first love. He had no real friends in the world any more, and Eddie was like a precious keepsake rediscovered in an old drawer. If he scared him off… Well, it’d be the end of Richie Tozier.

Eddie gave a slow nod and then pulled a paper from his pocket. “Then, uh… I wrote down my number here. So I could give it to you.” He tore the edge off the speakeasy map and handed it to Richie. “Make sure it doesn’t bleed, OK?”

“So you wanna see me again?” Richie couldn’t hide the relief in his voice.

Eddie laughed. “Of course — Doubly.” He fidgeted. “There’s a holiday party this weekend… I was told I could bring anyone.”

“You’re… not gonna bring your wife?” he asked. If they had separated, then what a score.

Eddie grimaced. “About that. Uh. She’s out of town. Her mother’s ill.”

“Oh.” He deflated with guilt. “I’m sorry.”

Eddie rapidly shook his head. “If Myra was here, I’d never have the freedom to do any of this.”

“So you married your mother, huh?”

Eddie paused, obviously muddling through drunken thoughts. “ _Oh._ No one has ever said that to me.”

“But am I right?”

“I guess I don’t know what else a guy would pick.”

“Someone you find… titillating?”

“I don’t think I feel titillated.”

“Not even by Bankhead?”

“I think I’d rather be her,” Eddie said distantly. “Not a woman, but you know… someone who knows what they want.” He turned to Richie again. “So do you want to be my plus one?”

Richie exhaled. “Uh. Is that Kosher?”

“You’re a long-lost friend. Besides, you can make Jepson’s bodyguard piss himself.”

“Oh, does he hate me?”

“He knows you know whatever him and Jepson know,” Eddie said with uncharacteristic mischievousness.

“Is that blackmail?”

“Just enough to let you and I have a good Christmas.” Eddie winked.

“You’re drunk,” Richie scoffed. It was moonshine, after all.

“I’ll pick you up Friday at 7?”

Richie inhaled sharply and shrugged, pretending that the answer was harder to find than a desperate yes.

“Fuck. Why not?” he said lightly. “I’d just freeze in my apartment.” Eddie smiled. “Uh, I’d give you the address, but I don’t think you’ll remember. So I’ll just drop you a line.”

“OK.” Eddie nodded with determination. “Promise?”

“Certainly.” He wished he could say more.

“OK. Then I’ll see you.” Eddie started walking away. He turned back. “Promise, though.”

Richie let out a puff of laughter. “I did.”

“Alright.”

“Do you need me to walk you—”

“I’m good.” He gestured over his shoulder. “It’s just 48th.”

Though he wanted to do something more drastic, Richie had to just let him go. A ship into the night towards that glowing city that shone like a lighthouse, far from the apartment that Richie called home. He’d keep faith that Eddie would find his way back to him, like he had before over seas of time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There will probably be one chapter, but that depends on how long the third gets and if anyone wants more! Please let me know
> 
> Plugging [my main blog](http://television-for-dinner.tumblr.com/tagged/fic+stuff), my [my art/fanworks blog](http://tommytonebender.tumblr.com).
> 
> TY again to zach_stone for beta reading <3


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